


Pesky Complications For Happily Ever Afters

by BlackHolesandUnicorns



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Ophilia gets decent advice and makes terrible use of it, Post-Game, Relationship Negotiation, Travelers are all buddies, miscommunications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHolesandUnicorns/pseuds/BlackHolesandUnicorns
Summary: When a gentle spirit like Ophilia finds herself paired with a fierce huntress built from muscle and sinew and powerful, animal strength, she just naturally expects a certain dynamic to unfold. It's perfectly understandable, isn't it, to want a woman like H'aanit to take control, to ravish her body and blow her mind?Sure, Ophilia, I mean, maybe. Less understandable? Handling these feelings with all the aplomb and emotional intelligence of a gorilla born yesterday.Somebody, please help her.





	Pesky Complications For Happily Ever Afters

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published October 2018. Repost of deleted fic, same author + different account. Not edited from original posting.

  


Ophilia’s eyes snapped open.

She panted in the dark.

The gauzy remnants of dreams clung to her, fading slowly. Ghosts of images and sensations floated through her. Sweat cooled on her legs, her brow.

Heat burned low in her tummy, wetness pooled between her thighs, and moments passed with neither diminishing.

Closing her eyes, she slid a hand down her body, tracing the silk of her nightgown. The fabric played softly along her skin, still sensitized and responsive from her subconscious imaginings. She pulled up the hem, squirming slightly to help, and her fingertips brushed against damp curls.

When she slid a finger between her embarrassingly wet folds, she bit her lip.

“Ah,” she sighed, her breath visible in the cool night air.

She pulled through the afterimages of her dream. Some impressions were very silly, of course, as dreams could be, but others – a strong, calloused hand binding her wrists above her head, hot breath in her ear, rough fingers pulling sharply at her nipples, ah… those were entirely coherent and so very sweet.

She imagined the woman in her dreams above her, now. Pressing her into the soft goose down of the mattress. Raining kisses along her neck, leaving sharp, delicious little bites as she went. Ophilia would gasp for her, moan for her, beg for her. _Oh, touch me, please._

Mn, but that would be far too easy! How brazen of her, to assume she could simply ask and receive! The provoking phantom chuckled low in her throat, and Ophilia whimpered and bit down harder on her bottom lip as she slid her fingers between her folds, rolling her hips up to meet them. No, she would only have the pleasure of her dashing lover’s touch, her attention, once she proved herself worthy…

“Oh, _H’aanit_.” She sighed the name like a benediction up into the darkness.

And beside her, in the bed they shared, H’aanit stirred. “Ophilia?” she murmured.

Ophilia froze.

The haze across her thoughts and the insistent heat in her loins vanished almost instantly, leaving her with moist fingers wedged awkwardly inside herself. She fought to keep her breath deep and even, to seem as if she were asleep. She closed her eyes tight.

H’aanit mumbled something faintly, and soon after, her breathing deepened.

Ophilia relaxed.

Face burning, she pulled her fingers from her embarrassingly soggy quim and rolled over onto her side. She covered her mouth and shut her eyes. She was sure she’d feel Linde’s wet nose against her face any moment, wondering why on earth she was glowing in the dark!

It was a bad thing, she knew. To wake up from a dream like that and _imagine_ one’s partner, rather than climbing atop them and making fantasies a reality. Surely, H’aanit would never protest.

It was only that…

She closed her eyes firmly. She’d go back to sleep and forget this ever happened, and it would seem as silly as she knew it was in the morning.

*

A soft blanket of snow had fallen over Flamesgrace during the night.

Ophilia sat at the edge of the bed she shared with H’aanit and hauled on her heavy winter boots. She chewed at her bottom lip as she watched her sweetheart pull on her fur cape, tie up her buskins, belt on her quiver. Linde turned circles between her legs like a great housecat, and H’aanit absently moved around her.

“You ought to wait until we clear the front steps,” she said, pulling on her warm woolen gloves. “It’s very deep in places!”

But H’aanit turned with a smile, close-mouthed yet open. Ophilia felt her heart sparkle like a polished gemstone to be the focus of such an expression. “Thou doubtest I can manage on my own?” she asked, teasing. “Oft have I hunted in deeper snows than these.”

Ophilia brushed back hair between her ears, trying not to lower her gaze in embarrassment. “That doesn’t mean you couldn’t fall and injure yourself. The stairs get very slippery, you know.”

H’aanit approached her, laying both hands on her shoulders and bending at the waist. Ophilia sighed blissfully when their lips touched, and warmth bloomed in her cheeks.

“Someday,” H’aanit said, pushing back Ophilia’s hair as she withdrew. “Thou wildst learnest to caren for thyself as much as you doest others.”

Ophilia smiled goofily, grasping H’aanit’s hands. “Don’t forget we need to pack for our trip to Atlasdam, later!” she reminded.

“I wouldst never,” H’aanit said, dipping for one more brief kiss.

She padded out, silent as the big cat at her heels.

Buzzing with pleasure, Ophilia dressed in her fur-lined cape and let herself enjoy a half-cup of piping hot tea in the refectory to fortify herself before heading out into the bright, early morning.

Lianna was already hard at work, puffing as she hefted her shovel and moved snow off the great stone steps. Ophilia paused for only a moment to trace H’aanit and Linde’s tracks across the snow – they had not, of course, fallen on the stairs – before she retrived her own shovel and hurrying to her sister’s side.

“Good morning, Anna!” she chirped as she fell into step beside her.

“Oh, Phili!” Lianna cried happily, turning about to awkwardly embrace her with one arm. “Good morning! I hope you don’t mind that I started early.”

Ophilia laughed, hefting her shovel and digging it into the snow. “Of course not, silly! I hope _you_ don’t mind that _I_ am so late getting out here! We slept through all the bells, believe it or not.”

“Oh, don’t worry. H’aanit already told me as much,” Lianna said, standing to lean against her shovel. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her breath appeared in great puffs of smoke. “You should have seen Linde in the new snow. She’s like a little kitten!”

Ophilia’s gaze slid off her sister’s face, over her shoulder. A lone figure descended the stairs from the town proper, glimmering in fine, polished silver armour, white cloak fanning out rather dashingly behind. A smile crept onto her lips.

“Don’t look now, Anna,” she said. “But your knight in shining armour is approaching.”

Lianna straightened, her lips parting for just a moment before she turned all at once, braid flying and eyes sparkling. Her shovel dropped from her fingers and she was off at a run before it had even hit the ground.

Ophilia shielded her eyes from the reflection of the sun on snow, smiling to herself as Dame Eliza laughed and swept Lianna up into her arms, spinning them both in a circle. Eliza let her down, and they bent their heads together to talk.

Reluctantly, for she was desperately curious, Ophilia began to shovel, watching from the corner of her eye. Their mouths moved. Eliza laid a hand on Lianna’s shoulder. Smiled warmly. Lianna broke into a broad, eager grin, showing all of her teeth. Her excited squeal floated along the wind. “You didn’t! When?”

They spoke for some while longer while Ophilia pushed snow off the path, and then Eliza bent to pull Lianna into her arms again, kissing her sweet and long on the mouth. Ophilia did look away, then, despite her nosiness. The kiss was desperately intimate, and surely neither Lianna nor her paramour would like an audience.

“Oh, Phili!” Lianna exclaimed, and Ophilia looked up, blinking, to see her sister once again at her side. Dame Eliza’s cloak swept up the steps as she headed back into town. “You’ll never believe it! Eliza put in for a posting at the garrison here, and – oh, and it’s been approved!”

Ophilia gasped. Her own shovel dropped to the snow beneath them, and she seized her sister’s hands excitedly. “No! Really?”

Lianna bobbed her head happily. “Yes! It’s only a temporary post – a year, that’s all. But it’s a start, isn’t it? In a year, we’ll be more certain of whether this is, well…” She flushed. “If we’ll be together forever, I mean to say. And then we can make more decisions based on that!”

“It’s wonderful news, Lianna,” Ophilia said, squeezing her hands tightly.

“Oh, it is, it truly is! I never thought she’d even consider doing it, you know. She’s so devoted to the Knights. She could be Knight-Commander in Marsalim in a few short years if only she dedicated herself fully to it! And I know that’s what she wants. For her to have herself moved to this backwater garrison, just for me…”

Ophilia thought of the wistful look in H’aanit’s eyes whenever she saw the forest in the distance. She smiled. “I know how wonderful that can feel.”

Lianna nodded, smiling widely. Her eyes glimmered. “I’m going to see her later today. Uhm, and later tonight, as well.” She coloured deeply, but her smile widened even more, taking on a wicked sort of look. “It’s been _months_ since I’ve seen her, Phili. Oh, it’s going to be so wonderful.”

Enticing ghosts flitted across Ophilia’s mind. She released her sister’s hands, casting her eyes downwards and away, biting her bottom lip. She reached up, awkwardly brushing hair back from her face. “I’m, uhm, I’m glad for you.” She waited a beat. She really ought not, but… “Say, hmm, Lianna…? Do you mind if I pry, just a little bit?”

Lianna laughed and swayed against her. “You know that I don’t,” she said.

“Oh, I know. Of course you don’t.” She rolled from her heels to her toes and back. “Uhm, I just, I just can’t help but wonder… how things are, between you? I mean, is it… is it everything you could possibly ever dream?”

She waited for Lianna to laugh it off, or to call her silly, or to ask what could have prompted the uncharacteristically direct question… but Lianna merely sighed happily, fairly melting against her side. Ophilia had to reach out to steady her.

“Oh, Phili,” she breathed, sounding like she’d just seen Aelfric himself descend in all his glory. “It is, it really is. Eliza is just… she’s so amazing. I don’t need to say anything, ask for anything… she always just _knows_. I just think of what I want her to do, look into her eyes, and then it’s happening, and it’s always so, so good. She’s so generous, and so giving, and so gentle…” And then she laughed, a wicked sort of sound that Ophilia had never before heard from her sweet sister. “But not _too_ gentle, if you know what I mean!”

 _I certainly would like to…_ The words hung on her lips.

“But listen to me, talking as if you know knowing about it! I’m sure H’aanit is exactly the same way.”

“Oh, yes, of course she is,” Ophilia agreed, and they giggled together like schoolgirls before starting back on their chores.

Ophilia chewed at her bottom lip as she worked.

Think of what she wanted her to do, hm? Look into her eyes? She’d have to give it a shot.

*

She held up the lacy, flowing dress, biting her lip. The cloth rosettes at the neckline were soft beneath her fingers, and the gauzy skirts seemed to float in the air like magic.

“Should I bring this?” she asked, shaking it out just to watch the diaphanous skirts dance around her. “I don’t know if I’ll wear it…”

She felt H’aanit step up against her back. Sighed and leaned back a bit as the huntress reached over her shoulders easily to pluck the garment from her fingers.

“As much as I wish to look upon thou whilst thy wearest it, we will only be gone for a matter of days. Most of which shall be spent upon the road. I doubt it wouldst seen the light of day.”

Ophilia sighed. “That’s what I thought,” she said. “Oh, but it’s so pretty! And I never get wear it! I’m always so busy with my responsibilities here, and I can’t exactly guide souls and light fires in that sort of costume, can I?”

“I shall need to make an opportunity, then.” H’aanit pressed a kiss against the top of her head, soft against her hair. “A rare beauty such as thyself oughtst haven no shortage of reasons to drapest thyself in Primrose’s well-chosen finery.”

Ophilia flushed at the words, allowing H’aanit to take the dress from her and move back to the wardrobe. She turned about, watching her carefully brush it out with her rough hands before placing it back on its hanger before resuming their packing.

A fire burned merrily in the hearth, and H’aanit had removed all of her furs. The soft fabric of her doeskin jerkin clung to her curves, her breeches tight against her muscled legs, and her bare feet made no sound on the floors as she moved. Ophilia sank down against the edge of their bed as she watched, a thrum of heat going through her, centering at the apex of her thighs.

“H’aanit,” she called softly after a moment passed and the glow only continued to spread through her.

H’aanit turned, eyes large and curious.

Ophilia looked up at her, leaning back slightly on her hands. She smiled shyly, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Look her in the eyes, she reminded herself. Think of what you want. She did, and she felt her chest tighten and her heartbeat quicken.

It must have showed, for H’aanit’s mouth pulled up at the corners, a certain spark catching and blazing into life just behind her eyes. “Ophilia,” she murmured in reply, a wonderfully alto rumble that seemed to catch the very air and set it to vibrating.

Warmth rose in Ophilia’s neck. She felt colour bloom in her cheeks. “I shouldn’t distract you from packing,” she murmured.

H’aanit set aside the plain white shirt she’d been folding, crossing the room in two long strides to stand before her. “The task is nearly finished,” she said, voice thick and buzzing as Linde’s purr. “We might sparen the time, I think.” The heat in her eyes made Ophilia squirm. She gazed up at her, tall and strong above her.

She imagined H’aanit’s hands coming down onto her shoulders. Imagined her seizing her chin before bending and capturing her lips in a bruising, intense, passionate kiss that stole all the breath from her lungs. Imagined her pushing her down hard, crawling atop her, hands pulling roughly and insistently at the silk of her robes…

H’aanit’s thumb brushed her lips.

Ophilia’s breath caught.

And then H’aanit sank down onto her knees before her.

“Thou art always so lovely,” she whispered, and her fingers began to push Ophilia’s skirts up.

Ophilia bit back a frown. Certainly, the silk did feel divine sliding up her legs, and the warmth from the hearth radiated against her bare calves, and ah, now H’aanit had hands on her thighs, sliding the fabric up ever further. Warm lips chapped from the cold wind pressed a kiss against the sensitive skin inside her knee. Ophilia wiggled and spread her thighs more on instinct than anything else.

But, this wasn’t what she wanted! Or at least, not how she wanted it…

She reached out a tentative hand, brushing feathers of hair from her sweetheart’s forehead. H’aanit looked up at her, meeting her eyes. Ophilia’s tongue slipped out to lick at her bottom lip, and H’aanit’s lips parted in response.

Look into her eyes. Think of what she wanted her to do.

She toyed with the hair laying across the other woman’s forehead, then stoked down the line of her cheek, soft against her fingertips. A slightly larger hand enveloped her own, and she gasped faintly as H’aanit turned to press warm lips against her palm.

This was it, surely. This was the moment all her fantasies came true.

H’aanit pushed her thighs apart and dove between her legs.

And it was… 

Fine.

Ophilia leaned her head back, letting hair sway behind her, and of course it felt – well, it felt just lovely. It always did. H’aanit’s hands against her inner thighs, her tongue teasing apart her folds, her lips soft and oh so sweet sucking against her clit. She was very skilled and the things she did were very, very pleasant.

Hardly the stuff of late night dreaming.

Ophilia reached down, ran her fingers through H’aanit’s hair until she looked up at her, curiosity in her eyes. Ophilia smiled faintly, and she met those eyes as intensely as she could, and she imagined being shoved down onto the bed, imagined H’aanit heavy and demanding atop her, imagined her peeling off her doeskin breeches and straddling her face and, and, and…

Minutes passed, and finally H’aanit pulled back, her brow furrowed. “Is something the matter?” she asked.

Ophilia pushed hair back from her face. She smiled weakly. “Does it seem that way?”

“Yes. Thou seemest not quite entirely… present. My imagination, or…?”  
Ophilia shifted, still looking deep into her eyes. The wetness between her legs was more than a little distracting, and it wasn’t as if she wanted this to _stop_. Just… shift, a bit. Take a good thing and make it better.

“I’m just thinking,” she murmured,. “Thinking a-about… all the things you’re doing to me, all the things you will do… it can be very distracting, thinking.”

H’aanit’s fingers ghosted along the inside of her thigh, and Ophilia sighed, spreading her legs further. “Then I had best do my best to clear thy mind of all thy troublesome thoughts,” H’aanit rumbled, returning to the task at hand.

And Ophilia tried, she did. Tried to picture exactly how she wanted it to go, tried to envision the next steps, tried to look into H’aanit’s eyes and embed herself deep within her psyche. Eliza always knew just what Lianna wanted, after all, and surely she could have that for herself, as well.

H’aanit drew back once more, sighing. She raised an arm to wipe her face, flexing her jaw a few times, and Ophilia ducked her head in embarrassment, heat flooding up her neck. It hadn’t been _that_ long that they’d been at this… had it?

“I – I’m so sorry,” she said, stumbling over her words in her haste to explain herself. “I’m just –“ She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, and then the ludicrous reality of what she was doing dawned on her all at once. Trying to send secret messages with only her eyes?

She sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’ve just got something on my mind, is all. We should probably just… finish packing. I’m really sorry.”

H’aanit used Ophilia’s spread knees to leverage herself up to her feet in one smooth motion, and against her better judgement, Ophilia allowed her heart to beat faster at the raw, wonderful physicality of it. How incredible would it be, if…

But H’aanit merely tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Thou needest not ben so devout in thy apologies, my sweet,” she said, and she sounded… sad. Sad enough that a stab of guilt shot through Ophilia’s heart, and she wished very badly that she’d simply let herself enjoy her sweetheart’s attentions for what they were. “Everyone haveth days like these. Thou art not at fault for the whims of thy body.”

Except it wasn’t her body. It was her stupid, overactive _mind_.

But Ophilia nodded gratefully, glad for the excuse to try and put this behind them. She watched H’aanit as she moved away and resumed packing, and she resisted the urge to fall down onto her bed and scream into a pillow.

She had to just… stop thinking about it, was all. She adored H’aanit, had been mad about her from the moment she’d strode into Flamesgrace clad in furs and skins, silent cat at her side, like Draefendi herself. She’d longed after her all those months where she’d been her steadfast companion and brave champion. So what if their intimate moments weren’t the exact way she’d always imagined them. What a minor thing, in the face of all they’d shared and all they felt. By Aelfric, this was their happy ending!

Why couldn’t she just enjoy it?

*

When they’d first begun to travel together, Ophilia had rued her inability to ride horseback. While H’aanit sat the saddle like she’d been born there, and could even ride without the need for such accoutrements, Ophilia had never left Flamesgrace since she was barely a child, and had never imagined she would. There had never been the need to learn to ride, not when her other duties had always been so pressing.

But oh, how she’d learned to be grateful for that black spot in her education.

It had always been easier and cheaper, beside, for the two of them to share a saddle. H’aanit would help her up and seat her before her, laughing and insisting that she weighed barely as much as a bit of dandelion fluff, and would certainly burden their mount not at all. Ophilia would haul her robes up around her thighs, squeezing tight as she sat astride. Her back would press up tightly against H’aanit, whose arms would encircle her to reach the reins as they road. In the Snowlands, they’d wrap a thick fur blanket around the both of them, huddling together for warmth. But further south, the heat between them would pool and throb and send Ophilia to distraction as their hips rocked together with the sway of the horse’s steps.

Surely she’d never have been able to ensnare such a fierce, beautiful, independent sort of woman for her own without their time in the saddle together.

Ophilia let herself enjoy that feeling on the road to Atlasdam, enjoy the sense of the strong, solid woman at her back, who certainly could be anything she’d imagined her to be.

The city lights guided them in later than they’d hoped, with purple twilight falling over the landscape. Even so late, however, Ophilia was once again taken aback by the busyness of the streets. It had been so long, she’d forgotten what it was like out in the real world. For all its position as the origin of the Flame and the end point of many a pilgrimage, there had always been a quiet, restful sort of energy in Flamesgrace, one she didn’t think she’d ever get used to not finding in other major centres.

Of course, even Flamesgrace was a bustling hub compared to S’warkii, and she could feel H’aanit tense at her back.

She leaned back, pressing herself along her sweetheart’s length, twisting her neck to look up at her. “It’ll be all right, H’aanit,” she soothed. “The Quill & Goblet isn’t very far inside the city walls. We’ll be there before you even know it.”

H’aanit relaxed faintly, and rested her chin against Ophilia’s head. Ophilia hummed happily.

The fair Flatlands breeze carried strains of lively music to them before they saw the swinging sign with its golden goblet and silver quill, and H’aanit urged their mount to a trot, threading between eddying streams of townsfolk and nobles, scholars and merchants. They stopped before the stable, and H’aanit was down in barely an instant with no apparent effort. She reached up to help Ophilia down.

An electric tingle went up her spine as her sweetheart took her waist in both hands and helped her down. Goodness, but her large, calloused hands could almost encircle the circumference of her waist. It was a very stimulating sort of detail, that.

“Runnest inside and given our apologies for being late, hm? I shall stable our mount.”

Ophilia bobbed a nod.

The common room was filled to bursting with unfamiliar faces, and Ophilia stood in the doorway, momentarily overwhelmed by the revelry. Harried looking students commiserated over tables strewn with books while frazzled looking labourers nursed massive flagons of mead, and so many strangers at once threatened to overwhelm her.

Alfyn saved her, of course.

He was standing up in the corner, towering like a great S’warkii elm. And oh, it had been so long since she’d seen him. Long enough that the sight of his huge grin and his shining eyes and his stained hands waving around for her attention made her break into a smile and start toward him as if she were drawn on a line.

He met her with a great, rib-crushing hug, pulling her up against him.

“Ophilia!” he cried, pounding happily at her back. “Well, Sister, if you ain’t just the best sight a fellow ever did damn well see! You’re looking damned radiant, if you don’t mind a fella saying!”

“Alfyn, you’re squishing me!” she demurred, pushing against his chest. A flush crawled up her neck. There had been a time, a brief moment, when she’d considered leaning into his effusive flattery and handsome smile… but there had only ever been H’aanit in her eyes, in the end.

He released her, stepping back. “Gosh, sorry. You know me! Get a bit carried away, heh. But hell if you aren’t pretty as a picture!”

“Okay, cool it. I think she gets it,” Therion drawled from the table behind him, rolling his eyes, but he coughed and looked away, colour spreading across his cheeks, when Ophilia raised a hand to shyly wave at him.

“We didn’t mean to be here so late,” Ophilia said, gratefully smiling up at Alfyn as he jumped to pull out a chair for her. “But the snows up on the mountain were heavier than usual! We lost some time in the pass.” She counted the drinks on the table – one, two, three. She blinked. “Is Professor Albright already here?”

Therion opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a flurry of movement headed toward them.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here, Sister Ophilia! Ah, but just look at you! What a brilliantly lovely young lady you are! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such radiant beauty. Can it _really_ be that you just got off the road?”

Ophilia turned to meet the swirl of dark silk and glossy hair striding toward her. Oh, but he was so _handsome_ , and she felt the same flutter in her chest as she always did when she looked upon him, H’aanit or no H’aanit! She flushed, brushing back her hair behind her ears self-consciously. “What did we say about that sort of talk, Professor?” she asked.

He stopped a foot away from her, rocking back onto his heels and blinking owlishly for just a moment before turning his face away to cough delicately into his fist. “Ah, yes. Right. I need to be more aware of the effect I might have on young ladies when I shower them with such compliments.”

“And young men, for that matter,” Therion muttered into his flagon, two spots of colour touching his weathered cheeks.

“Exactly,” Ophilia said, planting her hands on her hips. But she could only maintain a stern posture for half a moment before the professor’s morose expression forced her to take pity. “Oh, but you needn’t look so miserable about it! I know you’re only trying to be kind.”

“If you go easy on him, you’re just going to enable that shit,” Therion said, but she’d known him long enough to recognize the great sigh he heaved as strictly performative.

Alfyn dropped back into his chair, grabbing his flagon and taking a long swig. “Come on, both of you! Pull up a seat, won’t ya? You must be exhausted from the road, Phili, and dammit, Cyrus, you haven’t sat your ass down since you got here!”

“Of course, of course, I do apologize for that,” Cyrus effused, dropping down into the nearest chair. He took his own mug into both hands and held it against him, as if it were a warm cup of tea. “I just keep seeing faces I recognize from the symposium, and can’t help but go to pick their brains on the topics of discussion!”

“You mean the apothecary forum they’re here in town for?” Ophilia asked, delicately settling into the closest chair at their shared table. “You were there, Professor?”

“But of course!” He beamed. “Certainly, the medical arts are not my usual arena of study, but how could I have simply passed up such a prestigious gathering of studied specialists when it took place a mere block away from my own flat? All knowledge is knowledge, after all, and all of it has incredible value.”

Ophilia hid a smile in her hand. “You enjoyed yourselves, then?”

Alfyn frowned, his brow furrowing, but he straightened and broke into a wide smile, his eyes lifting above Ophilia’s head. “Aw, hell yeah! Here she comes!”

He practically vaulted over the table. Ophilia half-turned to see him clobbering H’aanit in a hug that seemed even less restrained than the one he’d given her. Of course, H’aanit was almost as solid as he was, and equally as tall, beside. She laughed happily and clapped him on the back hard enough that he was the one who staggered, laughing, against her.

Ophilia turned back to the table, giggling into her hand. Therion met her eyes, and rolled his. _Couple of brutes we got, there, huh?_ he seemed to be saying, and she dipped her head in agreement.

H’aanit pulled up a seat next to her, close enough that Ophilia could feel their thighs pressing together, sending lines of warmth up her leg and setting her to worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“As I was saying,” Cyrus said as Alfyn took the long way back to his seat, stretching out his back muscles with exaggerated stiffness, “the symposium was _most_ enjoyable! So many different perspectives and theories come together at once! I feel filled to the brim with the boon of new knowledge! Why, I filled nearly an entire blotter with notes.”

“Thou hast discoverest a valuable trove of information, then?” H’aanit asked, flagging down a harried looking server.

“It was a little bit overblown, but lots of good info, sure,” Alfyn said, leaning back in his chair. He stretched out an arm, wrapped it around Therion’s shoulders, pulling him in close.

“Overblown?” Cyrus repeated, blinking owlishly. “Now what, precisely, does _overblown_ mean?”

“Oh, you know. Kinda… inaccessible. Tight-knit. Now, it didn’t do _me_ any harm – Zeph’s had me hitting the books for all the high-falutin’ terminology since we were just kids. But I saw more than a few backwoods apothecaries like me looking mighty perplexed when some of your glossy Atlasdam fellows got their turns to talk!”

“Goodness! Why, I never even noticed!” Cyrus leaned forward. “Why, that is a certain, indeed! What is the point of this sort of event if not everyone is equally edified by it? Do you remember the specific points?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure! For instance, when your guy got to talking about bronchial distress, he was hauling out some real stuffy language! Even I was barely holding on for dear life!”

H’aanit leaned in, and Ophilia stifled a self-conscious giggle as she felt her breath warm and ticklish against her ear. “Art thou not glad we traveled these three days and nights so that we mighten scarce understand what any of our dear friends sayeth?”

She spoke just loud enough to be heard – intentionally, of course – and Therion grinned wide while both the erstwhile scholars had the forbearance to turn red.

“Alright, you heard her,” he drawled. “No more medicine until everyone else is asleep, then you two can stay up into the wee hours gabbing.”

Conversation turned away from the symposium, and they drank and laughed and relived old times.. In all her life, Ophilia had never had so many friends. She’d never truly experienced this, the camaraderie, the teasing, the laughter. As the common room emptied out around them, they fell further and further into their own world. It was a joyful thing, and she considered herself blessed to experience it.

H’aanit broke off her own words with a vast yawn. She tried half-heartedly to stifle it, but to no avail.

“Oh, dear,” Cyrus said. “I didn’t even stop to think – the two of you have been on the road for days, now, with barely a moment to rest! And it’s rather late. By all means, we can resume this tomorrow, if you need to head off to bed.”

H’aanit coughed, looking to one side. “I shall be fine,” she mumbled. “I am only a touch slumberous, and would rather been nowhere else than here.”

But not more than a half hour later, Ophilia shifted her weight as H’aanit leaned against her, only to find her drowsing faintly against her shoulder, lashes fanning across her cheeks and lips parted faintly.

It was very tempting, indeed, to kiss her.

“Okay, well, she’s not exactly going to get well-rested like that,” Therion said, noticing the situation.

“I’m not going to shoo her off to bed!” Ophilia retorted, but she did gently prod H’aanit awake.

“Mmph?” H’aanit groaned, straightening and then sitting up straight. She wiped sleep from her eyes. “I –“

“Hey, Cyrus,” Alfyn interrupted smoothly, a little too loud to not be entirely pointed. “Wasn’t that whole discussion on the importance of being well rested pretty interesting? I mean, everyone knows your body can’t repair itself unless you’re getting a good night’s sleep, but I’d never heard it put so well before.”

“I – oh, yes! Oh, indeed!” Cyrus agreed enthusiastically, after briefly furrowing his brow and glancing in their direction. “Altogether, yes, quite intriguing! I will certainly take those words to heart, myself, when I am tempted to tax myself through a long night of study!”

H’aanit sighed largely, and pushed herself up from her seat. Her chair scraped across the floor. Linde sprang to attention at her side. “Oh, halten! Thy message has been received, unsubtle as it been.” She turned to Ophilia, bending at the waist to run roughly calloused fingers along the curve of her cheek.

Ophilia heated instantly. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed up into H’aanit’s gloriously stormy eyes.

“I shall taken our things up a room, my sweet,” she said, and leaned down to press a soft kiss against Ophilia’s lips, stealing her breath away. “If thou wouldst awaken me, I shall not complain.”

With that, she moved away, Linde at her heels. Ophilia watched her go, heart beating in her throat.

The moment she was out of earshot, Alfyn let out a whistle. Therion began to chuckle. Cyrus drummed his fingers on the table, eyebrows almost to his hair.

Ophilia hunched her shoulders, burying her chin in her chest. Heat flared all the way to the tips of her ears. “Stop it!” she commanded, which only seemed to encourage them. “I’m sure… I’m sure that isn’t even what she meant, so all of you, be sensible!”

“My dear girl,” Cyrus said, laughing breathlessly. “If that strapping, wiry huntress were taken with _me_ the way she is with you, I would already be halfway up the stairs behind her!”

“She looked like she wanted to eat you up alive,” Alfyn said, grinning. “I wouldn’t keep her waiting, if I were you!”

Snakes coiled in her gut, and she balled her hands into fists, dropping them onto the table. “No, you don’t understand! It’s not like that at _all!_ ”

And she’d meant it, of course, as a protest. How dare they tease her so! She hadn’t meant for all the longing, all the disappointment, all the doubts and self-guessing and late nights wondering if they were suited to one another at all to get away from her and reveal themselves to her friends.

They stared at her.

She wished she could crawl beneath the table.

“Uh,” Alfyn said into the silence that came after, clearing his throat and shifting awkwardly. “You… wanna talk about it?”

“Gods, no,” Therion immediately replied for her, pulling his chair away from Alfyn’s. “No, absolutely not, obviously.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Ophilia murmured, looking down at her hands.

“No, now, hold on just a moment. I agree with Mister Greengrass.” Cyrus said, sounding for all the world as if they were still discussing the medical symposium, instead of her very private and secret life. “This sort of thing is _never_ good to let languish in corners. I say, let’s bring it out into the light! Sunlight, as they say, is the greatest disinfectant.”

Ophilia glanced up. Uncertainty played along her insides. She blinked. “Do… do you think so?”

“I mean…” Alfyn folded his arms and leaned back. “Yeah, pretty much with Cyrus on this one!”

Therion didn’t look up from his flagon of cider. He’d turned quite a shade of red, one Ophilia was sure she had echoed in her own complexion.

But… but still. She’d inadvertently released the cat from the bag, now, so there was no fear of it escaping. And might it not be something of a relief, to speak aloud the lowering storm clouds that had been gathering in the back of her head for the better part of a season, now?

She opened her mouth to speak. Closed it again.

The men watched her patiently.

“It’s just…” she finally managed. “… not how I always imagined it.”

Therion winced. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

“I fear I’ve been in this exact situation,” Cyrus said, ignoring Therion. He tapped a rhythm out against the side of his cup, brow furrowed. “I _may_ have some insights, however! And even solutions!”

“Yeah, same, actually,” Alfyn said. “I mean, if you don’t mind us butting our big idiot heads in, hah.”

She looked back and forth between them, with their eyes so big and guileless. Goodness. What advice could they possibly provide that wouldn’t just make her ignite into flames on the spot? The heat in her cheeks, she swore, could burn down the entire Quill & Goblet.

Oh, but if they could just give her easy solutions, wouldn’t it be worth it?

Absolutely.

“I just don’t know how to make her be more _aggressive_ with me!” she cried.

Therion sat his cup down with a bang, vaulting to his feet. “Nope,” he declared. “That’s it for me, good night everybody.”

“Oh, sit back down!” Alfyn commanded, pulling at his hands, and Therion reluctantly obeyed, brows pulled down and one arm thrown up over his eyes. “We can help her, you know, so stop being such a big ole baby.”

“I am so sorry this is happening,” Therion grumbled, and despite herself, she couldn’t help but bite back a hysterical sort of giggle at the way he looked when he dropped his arm.

“Grow up,” Alfyn chided. “Come on, we know exactly what she’s talking about, don’t we? I didn’t know just what to do with myself at first, hah. But we worked it out!”

Ophilia had to look away, the words conjuring up curiously compelling images. She absolutely should not be thinking about her friends in such a way! “Oh?” she asked, her voice strangled.

“Yeah, see – I didn’t have much experience at all, and to be honest, I didn’t really, uh, know what I wanted. Or how I wanted it. If you catch the drift, haha. But then, see, Therion, here! He’d have this way of _looking_ at me when we got our clothes off and our bits out, and it’d just make me crazy!”

“Looking at you,” Ophilia repeated. But she’d tried that, hadn’t she? Looking into H’aanit’s eyes, imagining all the terrible things she wanted her to do to her?

Alfyn rubbed at the back of his neck while Therion seemed to try and melt into his chair. “Yeah, that kind of doesn’t really do it justice, does it? It’s a specific _kind_ of look. It’s like, all… come-hither, I guess, only not quite that? I don’t know. You think you could do it, maybe, Therion?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Alfyn laughed, briefly pressing his temple against Therion’s in a fleeting moment of sweetly casual intimacty. “Yeah, figured. Hell, maybe he’s not even doing it on purpose!”

Cyrus held up a lecturing finger, leaning forward over the table surface. “Oh, no. I’m very certain that he is! After all, it’s a strategy I am well acquainted with, myself!”

Ophilia blinked, her lips parting. “Excuse me?” she squeaked. She’d often found herself admiring the professor’s striking profile, but he’d never seemed a sensual being!

“Oh, yeah?” Alfyn asked, eyes lighting up.

“Indeed.” The professor grinned almost shyly, reaching up to straighten the frothy silk of his ascot. Colour bloomed high in his cheeks, and Ophelia didn’t know whether to blame it on his words or the drinks he’d been nursing all evening. “But I would hesitate to call it a _look_ , precisely. Far more accurate to describe it as an _energy_ yes?”

“Energy,” Ophilia repeated, trying not to dwell overmuch on all the tantalizing visions dancing through her head. She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge them. “But I don’t understand. What does that _mean_?”

Alfyn gazed down at Therion, whose jaw worked silently as he stared at the grain of the table. He was most certainly red.

Cyrus meanwhile, struck a thoughtful pose, fingers resting against his chin. “Well, let me see. It’s rather difficult to describe, when pressed to do so. But there are certain tricks, I suppose. For instance! Why do you think I dress like this?”

She was taken aback. “Well, because of the prestige of your position, of course,” she replied.

He laughed. “And of course, that is absolutely the case! I must maintain a fine presentation, attached as I am to young people of enormous importance and social stature! And it is important, naturally, to present a put-together sort of image to the world. However!” He broke into a wicked sort of smile, one that made her pulse flutter in her throat. “Well, I’ve never met a dominant personality who didn’t enjoy unwrapping their presents.”

Alfyn hooted and banged on the table. “Why, Professor!” he gasped out through laughter. “I never knew you had it in you!”

Therion fixed her with a pleading sort of look. “Don’t listen to a thing they’re saying,” he insisted. “I barely knot my damn shirt ties.”

Almost immediately, Alfyn’s laughter subsided. “What do _you_ suggest, then?” he asked, nudging the other man with his shoulder.

Therion turned his face away for a moment before shrugging. He didn’t meet her eyes. “Don’t make a lot of eye contact,” he muttered. She had to strain to hear him. “And sometimes you’ve gotta be, uh, a little aggressive yourself. At first, at least. To get it started, you know, like jimmying a lock.”

Cyrus beamed. “Well said!”

Alfyn’s smile could have lit up a black room. “Why, you little sneak! Is that what you’re up to?”

Ophilia had never jimmied a lock in her life. She wasn’t even fully sure what “jimmying” meant, exactly. Also, she was more than a little mesmerized by the thought of Therion and Alfyn twined together while Therion was _aggressive at first_ , and it was difficult to keep a solid head on her shoulders.

Cyrus clasped his hands together exuberantly. “Why, Therion! I never knew! You and I are rather like two peas in a pod, aren’t we?”

Therion ignored him, fixing Ophilia with a baleful look, instead. “This is the last time I try and help you,” he said.

“You needn’t be so modest! Your advice is quite adequate, indeed.” Cyrus nodded, as if to himself. “He’s entirely correct. A less experienced and more uncertain partner may not know _how_ to take control. But ah, if one is inclined to do so, all it takes is a bit of initiative on your part, combined with the right sort of affect. Eyes lowered, lips wet, and –“

“All right!” Ophilia said, cutting him off roughly. Her voice was a bit hoarse even to her own ears, which burned. She carefully picked at her skirts, arranging them carefully, trying to distract both herself and then from how affected she’d gotten by the entire conversation. “I’ll… I’ll be sure to try that, thank you very much! So very helpful. You’re all wonderful, and this is really so very silly!” She tittered nervously. “Now, I – I don’t suppose anyone brought a deck of cards? I haven’t played rummy since we were all together last!”

An hour later, she shut the door of the room H’aanit had procured them behind her, leaning her back against the solid oak and closing her eyes tight. She was _still_ aflame and had barely been able to concentrate on the game. It was a fair good thing Alfyn had insisted they not play with real leaves!

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim, moonlit room. A lump on the bed resolved itself into a long and slender shape crowned with dishwater blonde hair, rising and falling gently. An equally large white shape on the floor beside the bed raised its head and gazed at her, eyes reflecting the light coming beneath the door. A long tail thumped along the floor.

_“Prrwl?”_

Ophilia took a step forward, hand outstretched before her. “Just me, Linde,” she whispered.

Linde’s large, damp nose bumped into her palm. She began to purr softly, vibrating the very air.

Ophilia smiled briefly, until she looked back at the lump that was H’aanit. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and worried at it.

She began to draw off her clothes.

She didn’t search their bags for her silk nightgown. Instead, when the last of her discarded garb lay draped across the back of a rough-hewn wooden chair, she slipped into the bed and beneath the covers, drawing close to H’aanit’s side.

H’aanit stirred faintly, half-turning toward her in her sleep.

She wore a simple linen shift, pleasantly rustic in how it rustled against Ophilia’s exploring fingers. Her lips found the hollow of H’aanit’s throat, and then lower, between her breasts. She pulled the blankets over the both of them, kissing down the rough fabric as she slid along H’aanit body. Her fingers found the end of the shift, high on her sweetheart’s thighs, and she dragged it upward as she moved down.

She settled between H’aanit’s legs. It was warm and dark within the cave of the blankets she’d made, and when she ran her fingertips along the inside of H’aanit’s thighs, they spread open eagerly. Ophilia could see nothing beneath the blanket, but she could find what she was looking for easily enough.

A shudder ran through H’aanit’s body when Ophilia ghosted fingers along the line of her folds. Her sweet, soft vulva seemed to open invitingly like a night-blooming flower at the touch. Ophilia bent her head, for a taste. Her tongue brushed along soft, downy hair and penetrated deeper. Tangy, rich wetness along her tongue made her shiver.

Above her, outside the world enclosed beneath the covers, H’aanit inhaled deeply. Clumsy, sleepy fingers found Ophilia and stroked gently through her hair. When they caught on tangles from the road, tugging at her scalp, Ophilia puffed out a surprised, pleased gasp. _That_ was what she wanted.

With her fingers, she spread the lips of H’aanit’s damp, inviting vulva. Trapped beneath the blankets as she was, the musk of her aroma overwhelmed her, making her weak with desire. She brushed against her clit with the pad of her thumb, earning her a groan and a gasp. She smiled. She felt delightfully wicked.

She bent for another taste, the flat of her tongue rasping wetly from H’aanit’s entrance to her pearl, where she turned lazy circles with her thumb. She repeated the motion, faster, more eagerly, savouring both the flavour and the quiver of H’aanit’s lovely quim. She’d never imagined it could taste so good.

H’aanit’s hands left her hair, and then a rustle of fabric warned her a moment before the blankets were swept aside and cool air rushed in around her. She flicked her eyes upward even as strong fingers caressed her temples and she heard H’aanit’s melodic alto rumble around her. “Ah, Ophilia. Letten me looken upon thee.”

She gazed beyond the tangle of damp curls before her, looking into H’aanit’s vibrant green eyes shining in the darkness. A breathless moan escaped her lips and was lost into the folds of H’aanit’s quim. Her eyes were so intense, so brilliant, so compelling.

 _Don’t make a lot of eye contact,_ Therion’s voice echoed through her head.

Quickly, burning hot, she looked away, focusing on the task at hand, instead. She felt H’aanit’s thighs tightening around her, and she longed for her sweetheart to lock those strong legs around her head, pull her in closer. Tangle insistent hands into her hair, tug her forward. Whisper sweet, hoarse commands into the dark enclosing them.

But as always, H’aanit’s hands were gentle, and her only words were kind and encouraging and soft. “Yes, oh, my sweetling,” she gasped out when Ophilia slipped two fingers of her other hand into her entrance, slick and gloriously tight around her. “Oh, ah, thou art perfection, my Ophilia.”

Despite herself, despite the sense of desperate dissatisfaction she felt in her chest, Ophilia loved the words. She loved how she couldn’t help but glow beneath them. And she chased that feeling shamelessly, renewing her efforts until H’aanit was shuddering and gasping and moaning around her, until she was coming apart beneath her tongue and fingers, hips snapping forward, fingers tangling in the blankets, until Ophilia’s face was covered in her juices.

No more than a few moments after H’aanit stilled against the bed, she was surging up to sit, pulling Ophilia up and then wrapping strong arms around her waist. Her lips found hers in the dark. They kissed, kissed deeply and passionately, and H’aanit’s passion stole Ophilia’s breath away, sending her heart thundering in her chest like a herd of wild horses.

This was it.

It was happening.

H’aanit laid her back against the bed, spreading out half atop her. Her lips teased at the sensitive skin behind her ear, and Ophilia keened, squirming. H’aanit’s fingers played against her lips, and Ophilia darted out her tongue to lick them. H’aanit gasped against her ear. She trailed those damp fingers down her chin, her throat, her collarbones. They found her straining nipples and tugged and pulled, teasing and insistent.

Ophilia’s chest heaved with her breath, and she arched her back, turning toward H’aanit like she were a flower and her lover the sun. Her hips pulled up off the bed, searching for friction, and the low, affectionate laugh H’aanit breathed against her ear made her mewl.

H’aanit’s hands moved lower, turning circles around her navel, and then dipped lower. Her fingers combed through wet curls and then slid between her folds, and…

Ah, it felt so very good.

She was already so thoroughly aroused from her conversation in the tap room below and her ill-considered imaginings of her friends in various states of pleasure, not to mention her efforts bringing H’aanit to a blissful end. She was slick and sodden and wantonly responsive. It didn’t take very much effort at all to coax her over the edge, and she shook and whimpered with the force of her climax, her quim clenching around the other woman’s roughly calloused fingers.

Slowly, she came back down into her body, relaxing against the rough weave of the linen sheets. Already, H’aanit was settling in beside her like a dead weight, her breath falling into even patterns.

“Ophilia…” she whispered into the dark. “My Ophilia.”

Ophilia stared up at the ceiling. Her sweat cooled against her bare skin, and the slickness between her legs began to feel sloppy and uncomfortable. Slowly, she pulled herself out from beneath her sweertheart and went to the basin to clean up.

She watched her across the room, slumbering in the sweaty, musky sheets they’d made such a mess of.

That had been…

Well, that had been… fine. Wonderful, in many ways. She certainly wasn’t _unsatisfied_.

She stood there, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, and she replayed the words they’d exchanged in the common room below.

 _If one is inclined to do so…_ the professor had said.

Ophilia pulled on a loose bedrobe hanging from a hook on the wall, and she padded over to the small writing desk pushed up against one wall. Carefully, she lit a lantern, turning the wick low so that the flickering firelight would not wake H’aanit, and she found paper, quill, and inkwell in the desk’s drawers.

Bless Atlasdam and her many scholars.

She dipped the quill in ink, and stared down at the empty page for just a moment. She tried to imagine what she would say, and colour touched her cheeks. But she’d always considered herself a very eloquent epistolary, and, well…

Some things were easier to say in writing.

She could easily slip away tomorrow and put the letter in the post, she resolved, and put quill to paper. 

*

_To my dear Sir Olberic,_

_How have you been? It’s been some time since we were able to meet. I have been remiss in sending these letters, and I do apologize._

_Things in Flamesgrace have been altogether quite lovely! Lianna has fully reassumed her duties, having recovered from the events in Wispermill. Eliza has been so, so good for her. It brings me such joy to see how happy she is! For my part, I’m doing well. H’aanit is adjusting to life there, and while I do think she misses the forest deeply, I’m forever grateful to have her at my side._

_However, I am not without complaint, and this brings me to the purpose of this letter. I hesitate to admit the truth, but this correspondence does not come purely from a place of wishing to communicate with you, my friend. I would like your advice._

_In your last letter, you indicated that you and Sir Erhardt had forged a new and lasting peace between you, one marked by affection and romance. I am so very thrilled to hear as much, and yet your happiness brings me questions of my own._

_Never had I met a warrior as fierce and strong as you, with such dignity and vigor, until I had the pleasure to meet the acquaintance of Sir Erhardt. Your might and power seemed so equally matched. Truly, I thought when I saw the two of you together, you were the perfect counterpart for one another._

_However, I have come to understand that being perfectly matched is not so perfect as it might seem, for when two minds are of similar shape and function, certain dynamics become fraught. I have come across these difficulties in my own relationship, of late. H’aanit is a dizzying puzzle of ferocity and softness, but when it is private between the two of us, it is only her tender side that I see. And I am blessed to see it. She is romantic and gentle, and yet I must confess I find myself disappointed by her yielding nature. You see, it is in my nature to wish to yield, myself, and I crave the strong arms that might push me to do so._

_Surely, two men as commanding as yourselves also find an impasse in such private matters, and yet you have a long history and a bright future. How have you and Sir Erhardt navigated the rift?_

_Any advice you have to give us would be greatly appreciated._

_Yours,  
Sister Ophilia Clement_

*

She was sweeping the floors in the sanctuary, nearly a month later, when the front doors opened inward and a hot wind blew in.

Ophilia looked up from her work, raising a hand against the light and squinting. With the brilliant sun catching the glare off the snow, she could barely make out the silhouette of the guest, a vague shape slender and flowing.

“Greetings, traveler,” she called, straightening and making the Sign of the Flame. “Have you come to pray at the Sacred Flame? It burns brightly this day!”

The silhouette glided forward in movements like gracefully falling snow. It resolved into sinuous crimson silk, tumbling auburn curls, and green eyes that pierced to the very soul.

Ophilia’s hand flew to her mouth. “I – Primrose!” she gasped. And she, shaking her head sharply. “Ah, that is to say, Lady Azelhart! We are ever so very honoured to welcome you to Flamesgrace, my lady, I –“ She remembered herself and dipped into a deep curtsey, lowering her eyes and holding onto the broom to keep herself balanced.

Velvet slippers peeked from beneath flowing silk skirts as Primrose came to a stop before her. A loud sigh echoed to the vaulted ceilings.

“Now, that’s not going to do at all,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “After all we’ve been through together? Stand up straight, Ophilia, or I’ll simply have to be cross with you.”

Ophilia laughed breathlessly, straightening and flushing. “I wouldn’t want that,” she said, looking Primrose full in the face.

Prim smiled brilliantly, her gloved hands coming up to rest on Ophilia’s shoulders. They were warm. “You very much wouldn’t,” she agreed, eyes aglow.

“But we didn’t receive word that you were coming!” Ophilia couldn’t help but protest. “If we’d known you were so close, we could have readied a room… had a welcome party sent out… prepared a meal appropriate for a lady of your stature… ”

Primrose rolled her eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t warn you I was coming! I’m not here on pilgrimage, Ophilia, nor am I here as Lady Azelhart. Why, just look at you. We’ve been standing here for upwards of a minute, now, and I still haven’t gotten a hug. The last thing I want is _more_ pomp and distance from you and H’aanit, both.”

Colouring, Ophilia let the broom clatter to the stone floor and moved forward. She and Primrose were of a height and build, but whenever they embraced, she always felt as if the other woman were fully enveloping her in her arms, just like she might have imagined a protective older sister might.

“As for why I’m here,” Primrose said against her ear, and Ophilia shivered in delight despite herself. She was hardly a saint! “A certain correspondence crossed my desk. A _deeply_ distressed letter from Cobbleston.”

Oh, no.

Ophilia _meep_ ed, drawing swiftly away. She searched Prim’s face, looking for the joke, but her expression was quite serious.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Oh, indeed,” Primrose said, hands sliding down her arms. She raised her fingers, clasping them together in her own. “The poor man was absolutely beside himself. No idea what to say to you. I have no idea what you were thinking.”

Ophilia dropped her eyes, no longer able to bear the weight of Prim’s gaze. Oh, she’d made a wash of it, now, hadn’t she just? Her skin was all aflame with embarrassment. “I just… I thought he might… understand my situation?”

“He doesn’t,” Primrose said, laughing not unkindly. “You miscalculated the nature of the dynamic between he and Erhardt, I’m afraid.”

“I did?”

“Very much so.”

“Oh.”

“Mm-hm. Let’s just say that the Unbending Blade is considerably more _elastic_ than one might expect at first glance.”

Even the very top of her scalp burned, now. But Olberic was such a vast mountain of a man! All sinew and muscle and distinction! Once again, unbidden images swirled across her mind’s eye. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against them. “I see,” she squeaked.

Prim’s fingers found her chin, coaxing it upward. “Silly,” she said fondly, and clucked her tongue.

Ophilia peeled her eyes open to find her friend gazing at her with affection. She fought down the urge to lower her eyes once again.

Prim sighed. “I don’t suppose you’ve _talked_ to H’aanit about any of this, have you?”

Ophilia blinked. The question caught in her mind like a rat in a trap, and she fumbled for words. “I… what?”

“Of course not. That would be far too obvious.” Primrose sighed again, all exaggerated dramatics. “Well. I suppose I’ll have to fix it, then.”

Ophilia’s chin came up, her eyes widening. “You – what, really?”

“Mm, set things in motion, at the very least. The two of you will have to navigate it from there, because it’ll do neither of you any good if I just solve _everything_. But the least I can do after all the two of you have done for me is to get things started.”

Jimmy the lock a little, like Therion might say.

Ophilia smiled, relief spreading through her middle. In all the time she’d known Primrose Azelhart, she’d never encountered any obstacle she couldn’t overcome. For the first time in months, a sense of peace seemed to settle into her heart.

“Oh, Primrose,” she said, blinking away blurry vision. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

“Of course.” Prim’s finger slid off her chin and reached up to pat her cheek. She shook her head, eyes glowing warmly. “Sometimes, it feels as if I’m the only one who can get anything done around here.”

*

That night, H’aanit brought home a fine buck, boasting it to be an eight-pointer. Upon seeing Primrose, she exclaimed in delight and pulled her into a tight embrace. Ophilia watched them happily, fairly buzzing with contentment. To have seen so many of her friends in so short a time… truly, it was a magical thing.

H’aanit dressed her kill while Lianna and Ophilia prepared for dinner. It wasn’t often that the Flamesgrace Cathedral welcomed such an prestigious guest outside of pilgrimage season, and it was important that everything be welcoming and finely turned out, not just for the elegant Lady Azelhart, but for the friend who had helped save Lianna’s life.

“She’s even more radiant than I remember!” Lianna said in a hushed voice, folding over a napkin.

Ophilia smiled. “Finery suits her so very well, doesn’t it?”

Eliza joined them for dinner, as well. The company was almost as lovely as the food. The fine cuts of meat from H’aanit’s buck had been cooked to mouth-watering perfection, and the fresh rolls, soup, and lovely little cakes served alongside only made it better. Conversation flowed freely and eagerly into the night, and by the time her head hit the pillow, Ophilia was so exhausted and full and content that even had H’aanit fulfilled every one of her fantasies in that very moment, she didn’t think she could pull herself awake enough to enjoy it.

She awoke slowly, turning about beneath the covers and reaching out only to find the space beside her empty. She sat up, yawning and blinking away sleep. Soft light filtered in through the stained glass, sending blue and purple and crimson beams across the room. Linde’s spot beside the bed was vacant as well, and the hooks where H’aanit hung her furs hung bare.

Ophilia threw her feet over the edge of the bed, stretching slowly. It didn’t _feel_ as if she’d overslept. The quality of the light still had a grey, wan sort of quality, watery and soft. And she felt none of the lethargy that accompanied an overindulgence in slumber. If anything, a weight seemed to press against the back of her skull, and the bed called to her to claim a few more hours from the jaws of the looming day.

H’aanit was an early riser, to be sure, but…

As if her very thoughts had summoned her, the latch flipped and the door opened. Linde poured in, all white fur dusted with snow, and immediately came to Ophilia’s side, butting her head against her thigh. Ophilia absently scratched her ears and rubbed at her cheeks. Most of her attention was taken up by H’aanit stepping into the room.

They locked eyes.

“Good morning,” Ophilia murmured.

H’aanit closed the door softly behind her. She pulled off her furs, hanging them on the empty hook, and then sat down to pull off her buskins and boots.

She didn’t speak.

Ophilia swallowed. The air seemed to hum with a certain tension, and she couldn’t tell what quality if possessed, just yet. She itched to stand up and go to H’aanit’s side, and, just as strongly, to keep her seat lest she push something too hard and break it.

The weight of her conversation with Primrose in the sanctuary the day before pressed on her. She licked her lips.

“Ophilia,” H’aanit said eventually, after the last piece of her outerwear had been carefully removed and set aside and she wore only her soft deerskin leggings and form-fitting leather jerkin. “I finden myself mightily vexed with thee.”

Ophilia’s breath caught in her throat, anticipation dying a hard death. She knotted her hands in the silk of her nightgown. “Oh,” she murmured. “I…” She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

H’aanit looked up, irritation flaring in those electric green eyes. “Whyever for?” she asked. “I haven’t even yet tolden thee why thou hast risen my ire. Thou wilt apologize for offenses thou dost not even knowst?”

Ophilia shrunk down further, biting her lip and dropping eye contact. She didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to say.

After a moment’s pause, H’aanit sighed.

“Primrose hast spoken to me,” she said slowly, sounding a little less terse and a little more… well, exhausted, it sounded like.

“Oh,” Ophilia said again. Once again, more eloquent words seemed like wild, impossible fantasies. She swallowed down a burst of anger at Prim. Didn’t she say that she would _fix_ this? Not make it ever so much worse!

“Dost thou knowest what she did sayeth to me?” H’aanit pressed.

“That…” Ophilia swallowed hard. “That I’m… terribly ungrateful? Unappreciative? Petty and selfish and –“

H’aanit growled, a primal sort of sound that instantly quieted Ophilia and made her look up. Her eyes found H’aanit’s, glowing catlike in the watery dawn light, and couldn’t let go.

“That thou hast been dissatisfied with mine attentions, and hast not _spoken_ to me!”

Linde turned about, ears flattening against her skull, and she opened her mouth to hiss weakly at her mistress. H’aanit broke eye contact to glare down at her partner, brow contorting into furrows. “I mean her no harm! Tis merely a tiff. Mind thine own business,” she told the cat, and Linde slunk down onto her spot beside the bed, tail curling around her.

H’aanit looked back at Ophilia.

Ophilia quailed.

“Dissatisfied is a very strong word,” she protested weakly.

H’aanit’s closed her mouth and her eyes. Her jaw bulged for a moment, and then she took a deep, steady inhalation. She opened her eyes, focusing her gaze on Ophilia once again.

“Dost thou knowest what a fool I feelen like?” she asked, and for the first time, Ophilia heard a touch of pain in her voice. “All this time, I have thoughten of nothing but thy pleasure and thy happiness, only to discover thou art discontented with the treatment I have given thee?”

“Discontent is even stronger! I’d never say that,” Ophilia insisted.

“Then what? In thine own words, Ophilia, not those brought all the way from fair Noblecourt! I wish to hear from _thee_. What dost thou wish of me?”

“I want you to _dominate_ me!” Ophilia cried out, and then clapped her hands over her mouth. The words seemed to hang in the air around them, and she had the distinct, horrified vision of the sisters in the chambers next to theirs jerking awake and scandalized beyond all reason. Archbishop Josef had been beloved enough that his wayward daughters were permitted their eccentricities…but shouting such a thing at first light within the cathedral walls was surely beyond the pale.

So great was her worry that someone had heard her words that for a moment, she failed to recognize that she’d spoken them. Outloud. To H’aanit’s face.

She gulped.

“I…” she fumbled for words, her voice hushed. “That is to say, I just mean…”

H’aanit watched her, waiting, and something seemed to break within her. She sagged, and it all flowed out.

“It’s just – ah, I _am_ ungrateful. You are so gentle, H’aanit! So giving. I could never have imagined such tenderness as you’ve given me. And I love you for it, I do, I truly do! But – and with all my heart, I hate that there is a but! – I long for _more_. I want… I want…” She swallowed hard, and she pushed through the last of her resistance. “I want you, fierce and demanding. I want you to forget my pleasure, to seize your own! I want you to push me to my very edge! I want to be completely under your control, to be a captive in the sway of your desire, to be caught up in your current. I want… I want…”

But she’d said all she’d been keeping inside for so long. Emptied of her unspoken lusts, the flood of words simply dried up, and then it was all out in the open.

H’aanit sat in silence for a long moment, her face turned away. Ophilia couldn’t read her expression; couldn’t look into her eyes. Time stretched grotesquely. After a few moments of torture, the only thing that seemed real anymore was the pounding of her heart in her ears.

And then H’aanit straightened.

Her chin went up, and she fixed Ophilia with an unreadable expression, cold and terrible. And for a moment, Ophilia thought she was about to be berated yet again, and surely she deserved as much… but there was something else in that look, too. Something primitive. Something fierce.

H’aanit pulled her braid over her shoulder. Then, slowly, she spread her legs apart, so that she sat astride the wooden chair. “Undoen my braid,” she said, and her voice was a quiet, resolute command.

Ophilia practically fell onto her knees before her.

With shaking fingers, she pulled at the leather thong keeping H’aanit’s hair in its plait. She bit her bottom lip, sliding her finger between the woven strands, pulling first one, and then another loose, bit by bit. She had to get up on her knees as her progress climbed steadily upwards, and she couldn’t help but notice the heat that seemed to radiate from the apex of H’aanit’s thighs.

She trembled.

She combed her fingers through H’aanit’s hair. It fell in waves around her shoulders, a waterfall of silvered fawn strands. She’d just fallen into the routine of the action when H’aanit moved like a striking animal, seizing one of her wrists and pulling her closer.

“Thou oughst to have told me,” H’aanit breathed, her voice soft and yet… different, than usual. Darker. More dangerous. Ophilia bit her bottom lip, daring to meet her sweetheart’s eyes, and found them burning with cold fire. A sweet ache burned deep in her belly. “Had I known thee to be so wanton, I mighten have granted thy wish an age ago.”

“H’aanit,” Ophilia breathed, the name escaping her lips unbidden.

“Dost thy shameless lips longest for a taste of my sweet cunt, Ophilia?”

_Aelfric!_

“Yes,” Ophilia blurted, barely able to suck a breath into her aching lungs. “Yes, oh, oh yes.”

“It seemeth an unlikely thing. A cleric devoted to the Flamebringer, possessed of such desires. If I am to believen such a tale, I wish to hearen the words, my sweet, from thine own unvirtuous mouth.”

Ophilia could only stare blankly at her for a moment, before the weight of the request bore down on her and she realized what she was being asked. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. “Ah,” she breathed, air flowing out of her as if she had been struck.

“I am waiting,” H’aanit said.

Ophilia drew in a shaking breath. “I…” She swallowed hard. “I want to taste you,” she breathed.

H’aanit smiled, and for a moment, Ophilia saw a trace of the tender lover she knew so well as warmth flooded her eyes. “Ophilia…” she coaxed.

And Ophilia gasped. “I want to taste your cunt,” she repeated, burning with desire.

“My sweet girl,” H’aanit all but purred, and stood from the chair. “Now layest upon our bed.”

She could never have imagined orders might sound so natural, so decisive coming from the mouth of her kind, gentle lover. Without thought, she climbed to her feet and turned, then moaned in surprised pleasure when H’aanit pulled her back against her, pressed a kiss against her neck. In one smooth motion, she drew her nightgown up over her head, leaving her bare.

“Ah,” Ophilia gasped, gooseflesh rising all over her body.

Hands found her dimpled breasts, lifting the weight of each, cupping them. A forefinger and thumb found her nipples, drawing cruel, teasing circles around their already cold-puckered peaks. Ophilia whined. Another kiss pressed against her neck. She bit back a moan as those fingers gave in, pinched at her tightened nipples, sending sparks down between her legs.

“Did I not commanden thee?” H’aanit said, a gasp of hot air against her ear. “Or shalt thou disobey my wishes and lose this opportunity?”

She’d do anything not to. With a whine, she pulled away from H’aanit’s hands, leaving the warmth of her body behind. Dimly, she was aware of Linde’s curious eyes on her as she dropped down onto the bed, lying flat on her back. H’aanit always did say the great cat understood more than one might think, and the thought was heady in its depravity.

A moment later, H’aanit climbed over her.

Already, she had begun to pull at the laces of her leggings, leaving them hanging low on her hips. The imposing look upon her face had faded somewhat, and the kindness Ophilia was used to showed as she straddled her, hovering above her aching, heaving breasts. “Thou willst tellen me if I have gone too far?” she asked.

Ophilia smiled. Butterflies flooded her chest, and she remembered more keenly than ever why this wild huntress had so captured her heart. “Definitely nowhere close, yet,” she said. “But I’ll be sure to let you know.”

H’aanit nodded just once, and then shimmied out of her leggings.

Ophilia gasped in delight, licking her lips with anticipation. H’aanit hung above her, like the sun itself rising through the wan dawn light, the soft, blonde curls at the apex of her thighs already glimmering with moisture. Her breasts heaved deliciously beneath the leather of her jerkin as she moved forward, crawling up along the line of Ophilia’s prone body, until she hovered above her face, the sun at noon.

“Asken,” H’aanit said.

“Please,” Ophilia mewled, desperation tearing the remainder of her dignity away in tatters. “I need to taste you, oh, H’aanit, oh, please.”

H’aanit had always been such a generous lover.

She settled around her, thighs warm and tense around her. Ophilia raised her face up eagerly, meeting the line of H’aanit’s already swollen folds on the descent. She drew her tongue along the line of her vulva, humming with pleasure as the taste of her flooded her mouth.

H’aanit seemed uncertain at first, and Ophilia tried not to wish for more, tried not to long for all the things she’d dreamed of when it was so very clear her sweetheart was doing her best. This was enough, surely. The weight of H’aanit above her, pressing against her, moaning her pleasure and swaying her hips along Ophilia’s face. The way her thighs and knees tightened around her when Ophilia pressed her lips against her clitoris, sucking desperately and swirling her tongue. The glory of having her face dripping with H’aanit’s sweet juices. That was more than enough.

But it got better.

As things progressed and H’aanit had to reach out one hand to grasp the headboard to steady herself, she seemed to fall into their roles. She ground down against Ophilia’s face, gasping and groaning. Her free hand reached back, finding Ophilia’s heavy breasts and slapping at them lightly, barely enough to sting, but it sent them swaying and Ophilia moaning.

And she began to speak.

“Ah, yes,” she moaned, rotating her hips downwards, squirming delightedly while Ophilia gasped for breath and struggled to match her page, lips and tongue working wildly. “Oh, thy sweet mouth. So good, Ophilia, so very good. Dost thou enjoyen this? Is this what thy hast so desired?”

Ophilia tried to agree, but her words only came out as muffled, desperate moans.

H’aanit’s fingers drew circles around and then pinched at her nipples. Ophilia whimpered.

It wasn’t so very long before Ophilia felt H’aanit begin to shake apart around her, tremulous spasms going through her sweetheart’s clenching thighs. She watched as she grasped the headboard with both hands. Her chin fell to rest against her chest, and through the sweat-damp hair across her eyes, Ophilia could see her features clenched, her mouth hanging open in ecstasy. 

She felt honoured to help bring her over the edge. Unable to look away from the other woman’s face, she sucked around H’aanit’s swollen clit, wiggling her tongue against the very core of her, and was rewarded with a shuddering cry and one of H’aanit’s hands – oh, yes! – falling to fist into her hair, pulling her even closer.

A moment later, H’aanit’s back arched, her head fell back, her hips ground down, and a rush of fluid covered Ophilia’s face like summer rain. With a cry, Ophilia found her own centre, sliding greedy, eager fingers between slick, wet folds, tongue still lapping greedily as H’aanit trembled and moaned. She didn’t bother to take care, to tease herself open, merely found her own clitoris and rubbed as hard as she could.

Her own release came almost instantly. 

It was a relief when H’aanit finally moved. Breath had become rather difficult, stolen from her nostrils. But it was a good difficult, and she felt well-used and aglow as H’aanit settled into the bed beside her. She ought to turn over, to wipe her face clean and perhaps reclaim her discarded nightgown, but she simply felt too magnificent to move. Tingles of pleasure and satisfaction seemed to run up and down her sides, leaving no part of her bare skin untouched. 

Around them, watery dawn light turned into that of yellow morning, and the sounds of the day began to float through the walls.

H’aanit stirred to life once again, propping herself on one elbow. Unable to help herself, Ophilia reached up, running fingers through her loose hair.

“You ought to wear it like this more often,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Ah. Thou art communicating thy wishes to me, now?”

Colouring, Ophilia stilled her hands. Her gaze slipped from H’aanit’s eyes to stare just beyond her shoulder, and, try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to look back.

H’aanit sighed. She shifted, and Ophilia thought she intended to stand from the bed and leave the room. That would be the worst thing she could possibly imagine. Suddenly, she wished she could go back and undo what they had just done. Had it been some sort of… of punishment? Had it just been to show her how wrong she was for wishing for it? Had it –

A soft, damp corner of blanket wiped at Ophilia’s face, cleaning her tenderly.

Oh.

“I lacken experience in matters such as these, Ophilia,” H’aanit murmured as she carefully tidied her face, caressing her gently. “My trysts have long been brief and fumbling. I do not know what maken a good lover. But I have so wanted to be one, for thee. I have done my best, and took comfort in thy lack of complaints.”

“I’m sorry,” Ophilia murmured.

“I feelen like such a fool,” she said, the same words she’d spoken before. She pulled back the blanket, and gazed down on Ophilia, her eyes faintly sad.

Ophilia reached for her, brushing fingers across her cheeks. “Oh, no. Oh, H’aanit, don’t – I’m so sorry!”

“All this time, thy hast been dissatisfied?”

“No! No, no. You are so wonderful. So giving, so gentle, so loving! You always see to my pleasure, and I love seeing to yours. Your kisses are sweet as honey, your touches warm like a hearth in the deepest winter… oh, please don’t think I’m miserable. I’m not, I haven’t been. It’s not like that.”

H’aanit watched her, brow stitched. She didn’t need to speak aloud for Ophilia to hear the question.

_Then what is it like?_

Ophilia swallowed. She smiled weakly, her fingers tracing the lines of H’aanit’s striking cheekbones, her aquiline nose, her full lips. “I can be like a hound with a bone when I get an idea into my head, is all,” she whispered. “And oh, this idea has been a meaty one, indeed. And I just… I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t even realize that I _should_ ask.”

H’aanit reached out, grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands away. She shook her head. “Primrose said as much,” she said.

“She did?”

“Yes. And… well, she asked me questions of her own. She wondered if I had noticed thee acting differently. I said I had, and have become concerned.” She sighed. “And she berated me. ‘Why canst the two of you simply talk to one another?’ she asked, and then she told me what thou wanted of me.”

“Oh,” Ophilia said, heat in her cheeks. Goodness. It was one thing to have the contents of her letter to Olberic between them… but another entirely to know Prim had looked into the eyes of her darling and simply spoken them out loud!

“I… enjoyed that. But I do not thinken I would wanten it that way every single time,” H’aanit said, releasing Ophilia’s wrists. Her fingers drifted to her own face, following the trails she’d cleaned so carefully. “If that is what thy wish, I can tryen, but it shall be… difficult for me. I like to be good to thee, my Ophilia.”

“Oh, no,” Ophilia said quickly. “No, I – I wouldn’t want it every time, either! I _love_ how tender you are, H’aanit. I love your gentleness. I love your quiet strength. I don’t want that to go away! I’d hate that. Just… just _sometimes_. Someone like you, so strong and fierce and powerful – oh, just, sometimes a girl wants to be completely swept away by that.”

H’aanit broke into a smile. Tension seemed to drain from her like infection from a wound, and Ophilia couldn’t help but return it with a smile of her own. She clasped her sweetheart’s hands in her own, and then pulled in closer to her, enjoying their mingled warmth.

“You’re not a fool,” Ophilia said, muffled against the leather of her jerkin. “You’re wonderful. _I’m_ a fool. All this time, expecting you to read my mind, when what I should have done was just ask.”

“We are both fools,” H’aanit said. “And while I cannot fathom where Primrose did learneth of our foolishness, I am grateful she took it upon herself to solve it.”

Oh.

So… Prim hadn’t revealed that part.

For a moment, Ophilia considered keeping her silence. But hadn’t being less than fully genuine been the source of all this difficulty? Surely, it was better, much better, to be… honest. Even if it was difficult.

“W-well,” she said, her voice barely above a squeak. “She, er, she heard it from Olberic.”

“Olberic?”

“Yes. I, that is, I wrote to him. A-after other advice proved… ineffective.”

H’aanit pushed her away, looking down at her with concern. “Other advice?” she repeated, brows flying up.

Ophilia cringed, nodding. “Erm, from, ah, the professor? And Alfyn. … and Therion. But don’t worry! They weren’t the first ones I went to! I spoke – very obliquely! – to Lianna, first, and –“

She stopped as H’aanit began to shake, and for a moment, she feared she had brought some new, well-deserved sort of wrath down upon herself. But after a moment, she realized the truth.

H’aanit was trying – failing, really – to choke back laughter.

And after a brief, indignant moment, Ophilia snorted, and then joined in full-heartedly, until a knock on their door and a concerned question summoned them back into the real world.

  



End file.
